Short Story: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

Image result for a plate of cookies

A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

Cecelia glanced at the time it was almost time for Theo to come home, Theo, short for Theodore, short for Theodore Asante, she didn’t know if he had a middle name. All she knew was that he had the same slightly uplifted brown eyes of her daughter. The daughter who the police had urged her to be declared officially dead when she’d gone missing almost three decades ago.

She glanced out the window as Theo parked on the street and got out of his new car, a hybrid of some kind, she had heard one of her neighbours commenting on it, said he worked for the UN, was very environmental, all Cecelia knew was that from the first moment she had seen him his smile had triggered a memory and even though her friends told her she was being stupid, she couldn’t let it go, his eyes, those were her daughter’s eyes.

She had wanted to go over there so many times, invite him to the neighbourhood, apologise for the one and only time she had seen him, and had been tongue tied. He had been part of their neighbourhood for almost three months and she had been waiting for an opportunity, today finally she had one, a package had been delivered and she had all but rugby tackled the delivery man, who had looked like he was debating whether to drop the parcel off to Father John or Imam Yousef who were always the natural choices for undeliverable items.

Now she waited patiently as Theo walked into his house, then back out again several minutes later, his gaze on his cellular device. He knocked and Cecelia went to the door after a few moments, making sure the smell of cookies was prevalent throughout the house; her daughter had loved chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, always dark chocolate never milk.

She opened the door and her voice deserted her, as Theo glanced at her, an exact copy of her daughters beautiful brown eyes.

“Mrs Vandervu?” Theo said waving a hand in front of her face a small smile on his lips

“Please call me Cecelia, and do come in Theodore,” she said finally finding her voice.

“Sure,” he walked in and looked around, “this place smells delicious,” he said his gaze going to the cookies she had strategically placed on the counter, the part that could be seen from the front room.

“Please help yourself!” Cecelia said delighted. “Chocolate chip oatmeal,”

He walked past his package and made a beeline for them.

“Delicious,” he said as he ate one and reached for another.

“Your favourite?”

“My favourite is actually blueberry like my mum; my dad loves chocolate, not dark though,”

“Does your mum like dark?” Cecelia said eagerly.

Theo shrugged; he was very tall, well built, most likely from his father.

“Did you paint these?” He asked looking at the water colours hanging on the walls.

“Yes, my daughter and I used to love to paint together,”

“My dad is into art, my mum prefers her books,”

Cecelia nodded and noticing that he had finished his cookies and was eyeing his parcel rushed to ask him more questions.

“Does your mum like spaghetti with garlic sauce and sprinkles of cheese?”

Theo raised an eyebrow but answered anyway, “No she can’t actually eat cheese, lactose intolerant.”

“What about watching movies on mute and guessing what the actors say?”

“My mum would hate something like that!” Theo said laughing.

Cecelia was undeterred and kept firing questions at him but the more she asked the less she wanted to know. Finally she ran out of questions.

“Thank you for humouring me Theodore,” Cecelia said unable to keep back the tears that had sprang to her eyes.

“Erm, you welcome Mrs Va – I mean Cecelia,” He said slowly, “look I can come by and help out with something’s if you want, I mainly work at home anyway.”

“No, that’s fine, take care now,” she said attempting to usher him out.

He hesitated at the door, his eyes so like her daughters, similar, but not the same, blinked slowly before he nodded and left.

Cecelia burst into tears, the pain of losing her daughter overwhelming her, it felt like the first time she had found out Monroe had gone missing whiles kayaking, the grief more than she could bear. She spent the next few days in bed, her head pounding, her eyes watering every time she saw Theodore.

Her friends came around to cheer her up, but it didn’t work, and she told them that they had been right; she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

Almost a week later a knock came at her door.

“Cecelia? Mrs Vandervu? It’s me Theo please open up, I really need your help,” he said slowly.

Cecelia stood there wiping her eyes before setting her shoulders back, this young man may not be her daughter’s child but he was a good man, and if he needed her help she would help him. She opened the door.

“Please come in, is there anything I can help you with?” She said softly.

“Those chocolate cookies, my girlfriend loves them, do you think you could show me how to make them, I have some ingredients,” he said gesturing to his backpack.

Cecelia smiled, “of course, follow me.”

Despite his eyes still triggering painful memories every time he looked at her in a certain way, she spent the rest of the evening with Theo, he was kind, just the kind of man her daughter would have raised.

She had just taken the cookies out of the oven when his phone rang, he was using the toilet and she glanced down at the screen.

She almost dropped the cookies – an image of her daughter, of Monroe, older, but still the same stared up at her, she touched the screen with shaking fingers. Tears in her eyes.

The phone stopped ringing just as Theo came back; Cecelia had the phone in her hands.

“Mrs Vandervu?” He said hesitantly.

“My…my daughter,” she wordlessly went into her bedroom and took the last picture she had taken of Monroe, she showed him a picture of Monroe and he jumped.

“That’s, that looks like…” his hands went to her eyes.

“It is your mum, my daughter,” Cecelia said.

“You’re my grandmother?” Theo asked his voice breaking.

Words failing her again, Cecelia nodded and embraced him.

 

 

 

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Short Story: The Struggle for Perfection part 4

“I’m sorry,”
Her eyes snapped up.
“Too personal?” He said and he walked away from the door, still keeping a distance between them, as if he knew she was afraid and didn’t want to startle her, but at the same time moving away from the door.
Olivia smiled.
“I’ve broken into your apartment, your personal space and you…” She shook her head.
He smiled and looked at her and she felt a blush hit her cheeks.
“So, I should go.” She said slowly.
“And you are welcome to come back –”
“Really? Just like that?” She said taken aback by how easy going he was taking everything.
“Sure, though I don’t think you need to lose any more weight Olivia, but then I’ve always thought you looked perfect.” He said with a shrug.
He said it so casually, something so personal, so intimate, like he had known her for a while, like they always spoke like this.
Olivia blinked, not sure what to do with herself or the compliments, she looked up at him; his eyes were so brown, like deep mahogany. He saw too much and for once the news didn’t disturb her.
“Well erm, thank you.”
“For the compliment or for letting you use my place?” He said cocking his head to the side.
“Your quite forward, Isaiah.” She said and noted his surprise at her using his name.
“And you didn’t answer my question Olivia.” He said with an easy smile, everything he did seemed effortless, even his posture, his arms loosely folded one long leg kicked casually over the other.
Olivia found herself smiling.
“For both,” She said before leaving.